Reminiscences
by haley79
Summary: A Severus Snape fiction of a different sort: The hours of the night after the events on the Astronomy Tower. Minerva McGonagall reminisces about the murderer and how they could have been so wrong about him... HBP spoilers ahead!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters belongs to me. They are all J.K. Rowling's.

**Beta-Reader: **Thank you very much, snarkyroxy, for the helping hand you lent me!

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Chapter One**

"So, we are agreed that you will arrange for the necessary steps to be taken for Dumbledore's funeral, Professor McGonagall?" enquired the elder wizard at last, sitting up straight and putting his quill firmly onto the desk. The finality of his tone and slightly raised voice caused Minerva to look up. The man appeared far too businesslike and matter-of-fact for her liking: Rufus Scrimgeour, sitting there, surrounded by Ministry officials with discomfited faces.

The Headmaster's office – no, she could not yet think of it as _her_ office – was crowded with people, all of whom seemed to be completely out of place, given the time and the circumstances; they were people who weren't part of the school's community anymore, who had never been close to the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Percy Weasley, her former student and Head Boy, was among them. She had always been proud of him, the most conscientious and single-minded of the Weasleys' children, yet now his overzealous scribbling on a clipboard annoyed her to no end. How could they go on as if nothing had happened?

Yet, there she wronged them, and she knew it. Horror and shock were written on all of their faces. Nobody had remained unmoved by tonight's events, but whatever they felt, they covered it up behind a mask of awkward bustle. The sheer number of Ministry officials and Aurors patrolling the halls of Hogwarts gave the impression that grief over the loss of the man, Albus Dumbledore, was the least of their worries. Minerva suspected that every single one of them had at least once wished Dumbledore would go jump in the lake, or at least to keep his nose out of and his mouth shut about a great many things. But neither public opinion nor gossip had ever been of much concern to Albus Dumbledore.

'Now, now, Cornelius,' Albus would have said, smiling gently at the former Minster and knowing full well he made Fudge livid with his innocent words, 'we both know that I am not a man for politics, but let an old man express an opinion of his own.'

Albus' word had been heard with respect amongst the British witches and wizards, even more so, at times, than the word of the Minister for Magic himself. People had looked up to him as the greatest wizard of the age, at least until Albus' warning appeals to stand together in the face of Voldemort's return had frightened them all. This news had struck the wizarding society at a time when everybody was just beginning to forget about the dreads of the dark era and was hoping for a peaceful life. Paralysed with fear, people had preferred to ignore, yes, even to deny the obvious, and the Ministry as well as the press had taken the same line, trying to evade the inevitable. It had done them no good.

And now Albus Dumbledore was dead. The vanquisher of the last powerful, dark and evil wizard – Grindelwald; the bearer of the Order of Merlin, First Class; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as they would remember him at his funeral. They were titles and honours Albus had never attached any value to.

Minerva smiled sadly at the thought of it. Asked for the greatest achievement in his life, Albus would always have answered with an amused wink, 'bowling a perfect game of twelve strikes in a legendary ten-pin match against my second cousin, Caradoc.' Albus had strived for neither fame, nor power, and yet Cornelius Fudge had feared him as his greatest adversary…

"Minerva!" The husky voice of Rufus Scrimgeour tore her from her thoughts. Slightly confused, she blinked away the last of the memories and forced herself back to the present.

"Of course, Rufus, of course", she said, still absent-minded, trying to recall what they had been talking about. Finally, she managed to get a grip and shook herself a little. "Of course, I'll see to it that everything is prepared for the ceremony, Minister Scrimgeour," she then said firmly, having regained the composure adequate to the situation.

Rufus Scrimgeour had been two years below her at Hogwarts. They knew each other quite well, although life had seen to it that they had lost contact. Rufus had always been an ambitious man and certainly, being Minister for Magic now, he had achieved the height of any possible career. She didn't doubt his ability for the job. On the contrary, during the last year he had shown more backbone than Cornelius Fudge ever had. Even though the circumstances were worse than difficult, Rufus Scrimgeour had kept a level head and had been master of the situation at all times. At least, the public had formed this opinion about their new Minister. Minerva herself was not so sure about the success of the Ministry's drastic decisions and actions of the last year.

"Rufus, Minerva! Call me Rufus, it's quite all right!" the Minister replied smoothly, leaning a bit closer across the desk. "We were a good team back then, and in times like this standing together is more important than ever, isn't it, Minerva?"

For a moment Minerva McGonagall allowed herself to take comfort from the Minister's soothing voice. For a moment she was tempted to let go of her arduously maintained composure. Never in her life had she felt so lonely and utterly helpless. How could she take on the responsibilities now placed on her shoulders? Yes, it had been clear that some time or other she would take over the post as Hogwarts' new Headmistress, but never had she imagined it would happen so suddenly and under such dire circumstances.

But then she took a deep breath and stood, straightening her back. "Certainly… certainly, Minister Scrimgeour," she answered resolutely, deliberately choosing not to accept the offer to use his first name. "If that is everything, Minister? I have a school to take care of." She ignored the indignant whispering that started in the back of the office at these words.

"It is, Headmistress," the Minister answered shortly, getting up himself. "I can count on your cooperation, Professor McGonagall?" His yellowish eyes, not unlike those of a predator, met hers, calculating. There was a distinct glitter in his eyes for a split second, so brief that Minerva wasn't really sure whether she had imagined it. But it had its effect, nonetheless.

Rufus Scrimgeour had lost nothing of his former determination and straight-forwardness, and Minerva knew better than to let herself be used for the Ministry's interests. Albus had always attempted to keep Hogwarts as independent as possible from the Ministry's influence, and Minerva had no intention for this to change.

"My complete attention will be directed at the school, Minister," Minerva replied stiffly and the whispering that had died down at the Minister's words grew louder again, "as you surely will understand. The students' well-being and the school's future have absolute priority at the moment. This is my area of expertise; politics is yours. I think we'd do well to leave it at that, Minister." Her tone of voice was the one her students knew so very well. 'End of discussion' it said and left no doubt that there was no point in contradicting.

The school had been shaken to its very foundations and would demand all of her attention during the next days. Sure enough word of what had happened had reached the four common rooms as well. Minerva just hoped her colleagues managed to calm the students. She had requested Professor Sprout to inform Remus Lupin, so he could take care of the Gryffindors. At least some of them still knew him from his time as Hogwarts' Defence teacher. Horace had been sent to Slytherin. No easy task, either. Slytherin had always been painstakingly loyal to… no, she shuddered at the thought of her former colleague.

"Very well then." Rufus Scrimgeour did not hide his displeasure at the Headmistress' lack of willingness to cooperate. His voice was cold now, his eyes radiating irritation. He took his walking stick and, with an angry gesture, prompted his staff to depart.

One after the other they nodded 'good-bye', awkwardly silent as they left the office, passing the Minister who was irritably poking the colourful carpet with his cane.

Somehow Minerva pitied him. The whole wizarding society would be shaken once the horrible news became public. Minerva did not dare to think about the panic that would seize witches and wizards all over Britain. The atmosphere had already been tense to the point of tearing after the number of disappearances and murders had increased during the last year. The Ministry's actions, arrests and raids had only added to the tension. How would the wizarding society take this terrible blow?

It wasn't until they were alone that Scrimgeour stopped the nervous poking with his stick and turned once again to the Headmistress.

"I don't suppose it would be possible for me to speak to young Mr Potter?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers inquiringly.

"Absolutely not!" Minerva didn't even try to hide her indignation. "You did not honestly expect me to allow that, did you, Rufus? Even if it wasn't, what-," she glanced at the small silvery clock at the desk, "half past twelve in the night!"

"Well, it didn't cost to ask, did it?" Scrimgeour shrugged and turned away to leave, yet stopped halfway to the door. "He will, however, have to answer to the investigation unit, tomorrow or during the next few days, as will everybody, staff and students alike." He spoke over his shoulder, not turning around completely.

"That we will see, Minister. Surely we will find an acceptable arrangement for all of us." The Headmistress had no intention whatsoever of letting Harry Potter or any other, colleague or student, unnecessarily be harassed by endless questioning. In this time of grief the school should not be further disturbed beyond what was absolutely necessary. Perhaps she could get Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt to talk to Harry. At least he knew them.

"Good night, Headmistress!" Scrimgeour sourly bid her farewell and let himself out of the office. "See you at the funeral."

"Good night, Minister!" Minerva nodded faintly as she lowered herself back into the chair behind 'her' desk. This night that had started so ghastly could not possibly be called a 'good night'.

For a while, Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' new Headmistress, just sat there and stared into the air. She felt so empty; filled with nothing other than grief and despair. This day, the last few hours, had changed everything. How could the world keep turning? How could _she_ go on?

Tranquillity had settled on the office. After a while, even the hurried footsteps and subdued whispering from the corridors had died down. Suddenly Minerva was very aware of the absolute silence. Even Fawkes, Albus' faithful companion, had stopped singing.

Somehow the silence made it all the more real. Albus Dumbledore was dead, her mentor, her long-time true friend. A powerful wizard who could have pursued any possible career, could have filled any office, could have gained absolute power – had he strived for it. And yet, Albus Dumbledore had made it his life-task to educate and teach the youth, not only in academics but in social values, as well. A man sparkling with wit, energy and humour. A man with a great, open heart.

During her meeting with the Minister and his delegation, Minerva hadn't paid any attention to Fawkes' lament. It had been difficult enough to concentrate as it was. Only with effort had she been able to recount what Harry had told her about the incident on the Astronomy Tower. There would be investigations, of course.

Following the interrogation, they had a long discussion about Albus Dumbledore's funeral. Rufus Scrimgeour had not so much been against burying Albus here at Hogwarts. Albus had been one of Hogwarts' greatest and longest-serving Headmasters, after all, and had lead the school successfully through difficult times.

Minerva had, however, needed all her determination to make sure the funeral was kept modest. Not even in his death had the Ministry refrained from trying to use Albus Dumbledore. But Minerva finally had put a stop to it. The rite would take place here, on Hogwarts' grounds, close to the lake, where Albus had liked it so very much. There would be no large ceremony, no long eulogies by people who deemed themselves important and no meaningless speeches by others who craved for a little bit of the fame of the deceased Albus Dumbledore. This was all Minerva could do for him now.

Minerva sighed heavily and glanced at the portrait of a sleeping Albus Dumbledore. His spectacles had slipped down his nose and the tip of his beard was trembling slightly with every breath he took. She smiled sadly. Albus Dumbledore was snoring.

"How can we go on without you?" she asked, shaking her head in despair. Her eyes shortly grazed Fawkes' empty perch. Then Minerva rested her forehead on her palms, her elbows propped up on the desk's smooth wooden surface.

The Order of the Phoenix seemed to have also lost its talisman on this damnable night. Would the Order continue to exist, anyway? Their founder, their leader was gone. Would they be able to keep the group together? What could they do, with not only their leader but their spy gone, as well? Was there any hope now at all?

"The Pensieve!" It suddenly flashed through her mind. Perhaps Albus had left something, some critical information, in his Pensieve.

She stood, went over to the alcove where Albus kept it and carefully lifted its stony lid. The lack of any protective charms did not promise anything good. Sure enough, the basin was empty, no silvery liquid swirling within it. Not even the smallest of all memories was hidden in there.

Despair overcoming her, Minerva supported herself on the low tables at both sides of the Pensieve for a moment and stared into the empty basin.

_And just what did you hope to find, anyway, Minerva?_ _A farewell letter?_

No. Why should Albus have left anything of that kind? He had not, of course, expected this to be his last trip away from Hogwarts. Only seven hours ago, Minerva and the other Heads of Houses had visited Albus here in his office. He would be gone for some hours and would be taking Harry with him, he had said. And he had ordered them to patrol the halls, to be vigilant, just to be on the safe side.

Albus had told them nothing of the purpose or the destination of their trip. Anyway, he had been quite discreet during the last months. All he had told the Order was that he would prepare Harry for his task, teach him all he knew about Tom Marvolo Riddle. And obviously he had obliged the boy to carry on in this discretion.

Come to think of it, Severus – Minerva shuddered at the thought of the murderer's name alone – had been quite indignant with Albus about this secrecy. Seldom had she seen the Head of Slytherin House so obstinate, yes, almost disrespectful, towards the Headmaster. Yet Albus had told him in no uncertain terms that he was sorry but, no, he could _not_ disclose any details. And grudgingly, Snape had accepted this, however grimly so. Had he already been planning his atrocious deed then?

_Merlin!_ She still couldn't understand it.

Albus had always kept a relatively close relationship with Severus Snape, had invited the younger wizard to regular meetings over tea and scones. So Minerva hadn't thought anything about it when he had kept Severus behind after their meeting. The Headmaster had always appreciated Snape's opinion, especially in matters of importance to the Order. The younger wizard was their only source for any reliable information about Voldemort's moves after all.

'Had been…' one had to say. Though, which side Snape had been loyal to after his return to Voldemort's ranks, resuming his spying, had become clear only a few hours ago. In the face of these recent developments, of course, everything appeared in a different light…

Had Albus told Snape anything? Had their conversation been the trigger for the attack?

If it had, Minerva did not know, and it was too late, anyway.

A faint sob escaped her. "Take good care of the school, Minerva!" Albus had said. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast."

No, he clearly had not expected to die, to be murdered by his… by his _own protégé_. It wasn't fair. Albus Dumbledore had been murdered by a man they – _he_ – had trusted.

Time and again, Minerva had to remind herself it had truly happened. Even if she still deemed herself to be in the middle of a horrible nightmare, hoping to awake from it any time soon, it was the truth. However painful, it was the horribly plain truth.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

It hurt so very much and it wasn't just the loss of a trusted friend, of a great wizard. What increased the pain a thousandfold was the fact that he had been _murdered_… murdered by one of their own. What could hurt more than broken trust?

_Trust_.

What was trust in times of war, one might ask? Worse, what was trust in a civil war, when witch turned against witch, wizard against wizard? When one did not know who was friend and who was foe?

You could not live without trust. The wizarding world had painfully experienced such a time during the last war and its aftermath. Neighbours had denounced neighbours, friends had betrayed friends and not even parents had trusted their own children anymore. Many people had been done injustice and had been caused harm by this distrust.

Yes, Albus had been right. Distrust only brought more distrust.

_And yet,_ y_ou should have known better, Minerva!, _she chastised herself. Severus Snape had been a Death Eater, after all. _Hasn't there always been a measure of distrust? Have you not always doubted him? _she asked herself as if to subconsciously and belatedly diminish her disappointment.

But it wasn't true. She had indeed believed in him, and it made her pain all the greater.

_How could you have trusted him, Minerva?_

Albus had…

"Why, Albus? Why?" She turned to the portrait. "Why did you trust him? How could this have happened?"

But portrait-Albus only snorted loudly in his sleep and his spectacles slid a bit further down his nose, yet he did not awaken. She could not expect an answer to her questions from him.

Another quotation came to her mind, one Albus had often used when they had spoken of Severus Snape in former time, of Draco Malfoy more recently.

'The only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him.'

Albus Dumbledore had steadfastly trusted Severus Snape. Not once had Minerva seen him doubting the man, the Death Eater. If Albus had ever done so, he had kept it a private matter between Severus and himself. Yes, Albus had always been respectful, an honourable man, magnanimous and forgiving. Too forgiving?

It had taken time, but Minerva had come to trust Severus Snape, as well, not least because of Albus' own unwavering faith in the Slytherin. And yet he had betrayed that trust, had _not_ shown himself to be trustworthy. He who had owed Albus Dumbledore so very much, had in the end shown his true self, had lowered his mask to reveal his face. The face of the enemy.

Severus Snape had murdered Albus Dumbledore.

Suddenly Minerva straightened up, not able to bear her frustration any longer. She went to the high window and stared outside into the night. The sky was cloudless and the half-moon illuminated the grounds in a pale, silvery light. A night like any other and yet one like none other…

What had Horace said, not three hours ago?

'I taught him! I thought I knew him!'

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. Even this morning at breakfast, had she been asked whether she knew Severus Snape, she would have critically narrowed her eyes at the questioner. Gazing over her squared glasses, she would have answered in her Scottish accent, 'Sure I know him, I dinna _ken_ him, though.'

That was it. Strange as it might be, even after having been colleagues for more than fifteen years, after having lived under the same roof for nearly the same amount of time – albeit it hosting more than 500 adolescent teenagers, as well – Minerva would not have gone as far as to presume to _really_ know the Head of Slytherin House, let alone to understand him. She had known him since he was a child, had seen him growing up, becoming a man. And yet…

But yes, she, too, had thought she knew him – as well as one could get to know Severus Snape, inscrutable enigma of the dungeons. Over the years she had gotten one or two glimpses of what lay behind what she had thought to be a mask of snarkiness and coldness. One did not simply get to know the Potions master.

No, he certainly had not made it easy for anybody to get to know him, and it had taken Minerva years to figure out what seemed to be only shards of his obscure personality.

She had liked what she had seen behind this mask, though; an intelligent young wizard, with a good sense of – admittedly dry, yet astute – humour, a man who showed a remarkable scrupulousness for a job he thoroughly disliked, a man of principles with a really painstaking loyalty to Albus Dumbledore and the school.

Yes, she had gotten to know her Slytherin colleague – at least she had thought so. She had learnt to predict his sudden mood-swings, had found delight in fierce exchanges of words with him, had now and then even managed to drag him out of his dungeons for social staff gatherings, many of them ending with long talks about everything under the sun until daybreak. Having tried as she might, Minerva doubted she would have been able to get to know Severus Snape any better - the man seemed to have lived for being unfathomable. Looking back, that certainly had paid off for him…

Damn the man!

Had she known him at all? Or had it all been a deceptive game of hide-and-seek on his part?

That just couldn't be. Or could it?

Staring outside into the night, Minerva let her eyes wander across the grounds, the dark contours of the Forbidden Forest to the right, the wide lawns that stretched over to the lake. Its surface was curled into millions of little waves, glittering in the silvery moonlight. Somewhere in the distance was Hogsmeade. On September 1st, one could hear the distant whistle, announcing the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, even in her office.

center mgmg /center

_A row of flickering flames advanced across the great lake, their light spread across the dark surface like hundreds of little candles. The first-years were coming._

_For the last time, Minerva McGonagall mentally went over her to-do list. No, she had not forgotten anything. The scrolls with the names of the new first-years were carefully tucked below her arm, and Albus would bring the Sorting Hat down to the Great Hall. Everything was ready for the Welcoming Feast._

_One floor below her, she could already hear the older students filing into the Great Hall, chatting animatedly, joking and clearly enjoying their first night back at school._

"_Ah, Minerva, there you are!" Albus greeted her as she entered the ante-chamber next to the Great Hall. He wore a purple robe, embroidered with pink and yellow butterflies and bumblebees. That was new, even for the eccentric Headmaster. Minerva's astounded scepticism must have shown on her face, since Albus said with a wink, "Purple and pink are the colours of fashion for this autumn, didn't you know, Minerva? It would do you good to consider a change in colour now and then as well, my dear." Therewith he placed the Sorting Hat on the low stool and turned to the door. "I'll leave you to the first-years, then. A strong year we'll have."_

_A strong year it was. A dozen students more and they would have had to move to a ground floor classroom instead of the chamber. Minerva mustered the students as they filed into the small room. It always was a stirring moment, welcoming a new year of students to Hogwarts. She carefully schooled her expression to one of stern, determined attention, though. It wouldn't do them any good for her to be lenient. For most of the young witches and wizards, it was their first real absence from home, and while some needed a firm hand to keep them in line on their first steps into newly acquired liberties, others needed a benevolent strictness and reliability to help them adapt to their new life._

_At the moment, all of them were quite subdued, overwhelmed by their new surroundings. And yet one could already determine certain traits of character._

_There were those who eagerly pushed into the first row, some of them already had their wands out – a strict 'Wands away, boys and girls!' took care of that._

_Others, girls mostly, were eager as well, yet kept a bit behind, curiously rocking on tiptoes to see what was going on._

_You could easily determine the Muggle-borns as well, although the students were already dressed in their school uniforms. They stared around with undisguised astonishment and apprehension._

_Groups had already formed as well. The long train ride always was a good time to make first acquaintances, although most of them were torn apart during the first weeks, when their House became of greatest importance to the young witches and wizards._

_And yet, there were those as well who stood to the back, alone, too shy or too frightened to make friends already. Problem children, whose names would be given to the Prefects to keep an eye on them. Most of them adapted quickly enough once the school's daily life had started. The House normally gave them a strong sense of togetherness very soon._

_Two of them, two boys occupying opposite corners of the room right now, caught Minerva's eye. One had wakeful, attentive eyes, however clouded by a veil of apprehension. He looked malnourished and overtired. A fringe of his brownish, tousled hair was covering an old, pale-red scratch on the boy's temple._

'Ah,'_ she thought, _'Remus Lupin. Poor boy!'_ Albus had informed them that he was going to admit a student cursed with lycanthropy. Yes, _he_ definitely was a boy to pay special attention to._

_Minerva was proven right less than fifteen minutes later as Lupin, Remus was sorted into Gryffindor and the thin boy warily made his way to his new House's table. He took his place next to another first year who sat, brooding, a little bit apart from the other Gryffindors._

_Minerva's eyes lingered on the two of them for a while. She had been sceptical about Albus' decision to let a werewolf study at Hogwarts, but Remus Lupin did not look as if he was going to cause any problems. Over the years as a teacher, she had developed a quite good sense of judging character, or so she thought._

_The very same sense told her that the other boy was probably going to cause her quite a few sleepless nights. The Black boy had 'trouble-maker' practically written all over him. Admittedly, she had been no less surprised about the Sorting Hat sending Sirius Black to Gryffindor than the boy himself had been. Although his current expression was to be described more suitably like something akin indignation, bordering on anger. Well, a Black in Gryffindor certainly was something new._

_The Sorting, however, was going on and Minerva had to turn her attention back to the long scroll of parchment and to calling the students to the front. They proceeded quickly. Again, she took a closer look at the students sorted into her own house. Her eyes following another Gryffindor first-year, Catriona Smith, to her place, she did not right away notice the arising awkward silence. Only when it gave way to excited babbling and giggling and the first students stood up from their seats, Minerva noticed the delay._

_The small stool in the front was still empty and none of the first-years gathered in the middle aisle moved. A quick glance at the scroll to confirm the name she had been calling, and Minerva McGonagall looked at them again, inquiringly. Snape, Severus – not a name she knew, and after 15 years of teaching she assumed she knew a great part of the wizarding families._

'_Severus Snape?' she called again, this time a bit louder, yet in a friendly tone. _

Has he got lost on the way, as had happened years ago to the little Whitehorn-girl?_ she asked herself, still observing the students who now grew agitated and started to look at each other curiously. The older students became louder, as well, and Minerva admonished them with a sharp, 'Silence now, if you please!' before she called the boy again. By now everybody's attention was directed towards the little group in the middle of the Great Hall._

_Slowly, the remaining first-years formed a half-circle and a girl pushed a thin and scrawny-looking boy to the front. The straggly, shoulder-long, jet-black hair, these dark eyes – he reminded her of somebody, yet whom, Minerva could not possibly put her finger on. He was the other first-year she had seen standing apart in the ante-chamber. Much like little Remus Lupin, and yet so very different._

_Whereas it had been shy apprehension that had clouded Remus' otherwise open and wakeful eyes, something completely different radiated from Severus Snape. There was apprehension as well, yet it seemed to be much more a sign of suspicion and mistrust. The boy seemed to be torn between curiosity – for there was an inquisitive glimmer on his face – fear of the new and unfamiliar, and hostility. Yes, definitely hostility, as Severus Snape irritably shrugged the girl's hand away, hissing something at her. Within a split second, his expression had changed to one of cool aloofness and the boy straightened his small shoulders before scuffling to the front. His unwillingness was obvious and when Severus Snape reached the teachers' rostrum he had a deep scowl on his face._

'Goodness gracious!' _Minerva thought as she looked the boy over critically. '_Has nobody ever told him how to dress properly?' _The boy's robe was mis-buttoned, his right shoe-lace open. He had his eyes firmly trained to the floor, his motions weary, as she led him to the stool. _Is he crying?

'_There now, Mr Snape!' She placed an assuring hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched the instant her hand touched him, stopped dead and looked at her. For a moment, there was something akin to fear in his eyes, yet whatever it was, it was immediately replaced by a dark glare, and he shrugged her hand away angrily. Yes, his dark eyes were glittering suspiciously, his face slightly contorted, and he blinked as if to keep tears from spilling. For a moment, he stared at her intensely, before abruptly moving away a few steps._

'Uh, yes. You are a difficult young man, as well, aren't you?' _Minerva thought, and silently prayed he would not be placed into Gryffindor._

_Standing aside, she watched him scramble up onto the stool, and then everything seemed to happen simultaneously. Putting the hat on, Severus Snape snuffled aloud and rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve. Minerva herself had to school her expression so as not to let show her disgust. Was he indeed so upset or just extremely underbred?_

_Behind her, the whole student body erupted in a roar of laughter, but Minerva was distracted only for a moment before turning back to Severus Snape just in time to see the scowl being replaced by an angry flush. His left hand contorted around the robe in his lap, the other shot into his pocket, and within an instant Severus Snape had his wand out._

_Judging from the determination on his face, Minerva had no doubt he was on the verge of hexing that Hufflepuff third-year sitting closest to him – and doing it successfully so. Luckily, the Headmaster's 'Silence, please!' was immediately followed by the Sorting Hat's call of 'SLYTHERIN!'.

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**A/N: **So, this has been it. Although I firmly believe in Snape, the events on top of the Astronomy Tower schocked me to no end. Perhaps this is my way to come to terms with it... I hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter. 'Reminiscences' is my first story, so I'd love to get some feedback. Thank you very much!


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** J. K. Rowling's created these wonderful characters. I am merely releasing them from their state of enforced inactiveness for the time being...

**BETA READER:** snarkyroxy - thanks a lot for your help!

**

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Chapter Two**

The boy had not hexed anybody, not on the night of the Welcoming Feast, in any case. In his outbursts of temper during the next seven years, though, he had made it up umpteen times.

Severus Snape.

Minerva knew there was no use to her line of thought, no way to understand what had happened, least of all a way to explain, let alone excuse, the atrocious act. And yet she had to think about the man who had betrayed her trust so shamelessly, the man she had thought to be remorseful, changed, the man she had defended a hundred times against mistrustful members of the Order, against suspicious students. Minerva could not even count the number of times she had defended Severus Snape, especially against the most absurd accusations of one young Gryffindor by the name of Harry Potter. And now this….

'_How could you have let yourself be fooled by him, Minerva?' _she asked herself. _'Haven't all your antennae cried 'Alarm' already at his Sorting? Should you not have listened better to your gut feeling? Albus always had too soft a heart, but you? Had you not sent for him tonight, none of this would have happened….'_

She shook her head in a desperate attempt to drive away these dark thoughts of doubt and self-reproach. They would lead her nowhere; if anything, they'd just drag her down even more. And that just wouldn't do!

'_No, Minerva,' _she firmly told herself, _'you are not going to let _him_ rule your mind, never again!'_

Therewith, Minerva McGonagall straightened her back, pushed her glasses further up her nose and went over to the desk. Not being able to sleep a wink anyway, she could just as well use the time efficiently. Several tasks waited for her, one less pleasant than the others. But Minerva was not one to avoid or postpone unpleasant responsibilities. An obituary needed to be drafted in the name of the school, invitations to the funeral waited to be written, addresses of former members of staff and students had to be researched. A lot to do, a lot to take her mind off this night and its events.

'_Funny,' _Minerva thought to herself as the quill flew over the parchment, _'how the brain, the body, seem to develop a life of their own, functioning perfectly even though inside you feel numb and empty.'_

Suddenly, she recognized how it did her good to keep herself busy, her mind blank, all thoughts about anything that had happened closed away, and even more fervently she dipped the quill into the inkpot, erasing the unavoidable splatters on the parchment with a flick of her wrist.

Ever since the end of the battle and the sudden retreat of the remaining Death Eaters, she had not allowed herself a break. There had been a short moment of weakness in the hospital wing, yes, but she had not given in to the tears welling in her eyes, knowing she would not be able to stop, once she had let herself go.

She had kept herself going, as she did now, working like an automaton. It was more difficult now that the castle was dark and silent, now that she was alone with her thoughts. But she had to be strong. A lioness did not show any pain.

Formulating sentence after sentence, putting into words what she was unable to speak out loud, let alone consciously think, Minerva was indescribably thankful for her mother's strict upbringing. Her mother had been a stickler for her girls' proper education in all aspects of life, including discipline, social competence and eloquence – skills Minerva had not developed easily. She had learnt how to put aside her own needs, though, and how to keep a level head, no matter what.

The obituary completed, Minerva moved on to writing the invitations to the funeral. There would be no other topic for weeks among witches and wizards all over Britain than the murder of Albus Dumbledore, that much was for sure. Neither would there be anybody not knowing what had happened, nor anybody ignorant of the time and place of the late Headmaster's funeral.

And yet social habits required formal invitations being sent to a number of people, mostly former members of staff, colleagues from other European schools, former students – head boys and head girls, prefects – and Ministry officials.

The text itself was quickly drafted. Despite being desperate to keep herself busy, Minerva charmed her own copying quill to duplicate the parchment, ready for her just to seal them and to send them via Owl Post.

The self-writing quill giving a constant, monotonous background drone, Minerva Summoned the huge box of index cards that archived the necessary addresses. They were charmed to keep themselves up to date, marking the persons as either student or staff, recent or former, respectively. It was a continuous archive, many of the cards being yellowed and brittle already, not few of them being marked with a black stripe – there would be one more of those now.

Minerva McGonagall swallowed, then firmly gripped her wand and summoned the first pile of cards – Ministry officials, first things first.

Signing and sealing the roles of parchment was a tedious, mindless task. Her hands and wand worked mechanically, her mind blank, only now and then being caught by a name that brought back a face not seen for a long time, memories that had seemed forgotten.

It was the name Nickleby, Abraham, Ravenclaw Head Boy, graduated 1957, that set in motion another unwanted train of thoughts.

She couldn't get him out of her head: Severus Snape, the man that had deceived them all… the boy he had once been….

Not far into his second year at Hogwarts, Minerva had suddenly recalled why he somehow looked familiar to her. There had been a quarrel in the halls, right in front of the Transfiguration classroom. Rather by chance had she witnessed the whole affair.

An innocent remark, _'What's that? A Gobstones Set?', _followed bya cutting insult,_ 'Only babies play Gobstones, Snivellus!'_ and some immature laughs, that was all it had taken. Within an instant, hexes and curses had been flying; a wooden chest flew straight across the floor, splintering against the stone wall, pouring green and brown marbles all over the floor. The next second, a Ravenclaw boy was crying – or trying to, since a thick, sticky glue was adhering his lips together.

The wrongdoer hadn't been hard to find. "Serves you right," Severus Snape had hissed, shuffling past the other boy to pick up the splintered chest. "Nobody insults my mum!"

And suddenly it had all become clear. This pale skin, the heavy, oh-so-expressive brows, his constantly annoyed look, his sullen behaviour. Only the idiom had to be adjusted, in this case.

Like mother like son.

Minerva had not realized it before, but the Gobstones set had made the Knut drop. Severus Snape was the son of Eileen Prince, a student from Minerva's first years of teaching. A morose, but motivated young witch with a wilful character, having graduated 1957. Eileen had been leader of the Gobstones Club, Minerva recalled.

Much like his mother, Severus Snape had cut a miserable figure, and the accusing scowl that had always darkened his features, had not helped, either. True enough, he had not been the cute little first-year. Others had occupied that role. James Potter, for example, had been a charmer. No wonder the boy had attracted the girls. Remus Lupin had borne such a pitiful look, you only wanted to take him into your arms and cuddle him – and that meant something, coming from Minerva McGonagall. And then there was Sirius Black, another who had won people easily. A prankster par excellence, and yet at the same time, extremely amiable. To complete the Gryffindor quartet, Pettigrew, with his round face and those trustful, blue eyes. _Though, we were also been wrong about him,_ Minerva thought sadly.

But those were only the Gryffindors. One of Minerva's favourite students in that year had been in fact a Slytherin, Evan Rosier. Never had she thought the well-mannered son of an Irish banker could harm anybody, let alone commit gruesome murders and other atrocities. Yet, Evan Rosier had, post mortem, been confirmed a Death Eater. And he had for a long time been Snape's best mate, if a term like that could at all be used when talking about Severus Snape. They should have been warned, but perhaps her ability to judge character was not so very good, after all.

And neither had been Albus', obviously…

But the Headmaster had always seen the best in every person and had, in the process, often enough neglected their apparent failings. Although being very aware of them, he had chosen not to dwell on one's flaws but to move on, to grant second chances. Minerva had admired this trait of Albus' character, had seen it as one of his greatest fortes. Yes, she had even viewed him as a role model, in this respect as in so many others. In the end it should have been Albus' greatest weakness, as well. The one that cost him his life.

Snape.

Of course, Minerva knew, had known back then, that it was not a nice thing to say – especially not for a teacher – but she had been relieved when Severus Snape had been Sorted into Slytherin, rather than into her own House. She hadn't been too surprised, either. Over the years she had developed some kind of seventh sense to determine into which House a student might be Sorted.

Minerva had always tried to treat all students equally, no matter which House they belonged to. But she was human as well, and naturally there were adolescents she was on better terms with than others. Minerva had always appreciated effort and dedication. Yet friendliness and an open heart, respect and a good upbringing counted as well. Suffice to say, Severus Snape had not had either of the latter.

But had this made him a bad boy to begin with?

Certainly not. She might not have liked Severus Snape as a boy, but he had been just that: a mere boy with a less-than-fortunate youth, prone to straying from the straight and narrow.

Minerva still remembered that night of September 1st as if it was yesterday; the expression of mistrust on his pale face; those dark, glaring eyes, assessing, but at the same time guarded. He had desperately tried to keep his emotions to himself and had yet reacted so impulsively, so angrily, to any well-meant gesture.

No, Severus Snape had not made it easy for anybody to deal with him. With his gruff and sour behaviour, he had efficiently turned away whoever had tried to get through to him.

Almost every year they had one or two students with less favourable childhood experiences, students whose trust had to be earned slowly. There were those who profited greatly of the school's atmosphere, the security of their House, and adapted quickly, literally blossoming out to strong, independent persons. Remus Lupin, for example. Others, however, were more difficult to approach. With students refusing to confide in their teachers, Minerva and her colleagues had to fall back on patience, openness, and an eye for when and where help was needed _and_ welcomed.

Severus Snape had been one of those reticent, distrustful students. Minerva had never learnt the true reason for his distrust in his elders. Not even as a man had he ever spoken openly to her about his childhood. Other than scornful remarks about 'spoilt children' and 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger', Minerva had never gotten anything else out of him that might have allowed her to make more than assumptions about his apparently difficult family life. Anybody getting too close to him found themselves locked out by a mask of aloofness and sometimes just plain nastiness. He had perfected this shield over the years.

As a boy, however, his very expression had still spoken of suspicion, not so much of fear, but of an inherent wariness. She still saw him sneaking through the corridors with a slouch, squinting at his fellow students from behind a curtain of unkempt black hair. Somehow he had, during his first years at Hogwarts, always given the impression of being not really present, of wanting to hide. With his shabby appearance, he had always reminded her of a grey mouse. And yet he had already worn that unnerving look in those dark, enquiring eyes, a look she had later come to fear.

Except for classes, Minerva had not seen much of the boy during his first years at Hogwarts and certainly couldn't claim to have gotten to know him. Severus Snape had been a discreet student, quick on the uptake, talented, and eager to learn. Although not overly apt at Transfiguration, he had been ambitious, willing to make it up by doubling his efforts.

And yet, often enough, it had been just his ardent ambition to make it right, to make it better than the others, that had stood in his way.

mgmg

_He was sitting in the back row – he had been late. Again._

_His hair tousled, his shirt crumpled and the collar of his robe torn, he had entered the classroom almost fifteen minutes late. Out of breath, he had slid into the last bench, dropping his bag nonchalantly to the floor. Her admonishment for punctuality had been met with a muttered, 'M' sorry, Professor', yet the look in his eyes had told her, if anything, he had meant just the opposite. Angry and accusing it had been._

_Severus Snape._

_She'd have to have a serious talk with him after class; perhaps she would also confront Horace about it. Things couldn't go on like this._

_The boy had changed during the last year, but not for the better. He had discarded his formerly insecure self – that in itself would have been welcomed, but Severus Snape still was as reclusive as ever, only now he hid it behind a shield of anger, obstinacy and plain rudeness._

_Minerva had a premonition of why he had been late again. Most probably she would find another teacher's formal complaint, perhaps even a request to supervise a detention, on her desk after class. There had been enough incidents like this during the last weeks, even though the school year hadn't been long underway._

_No week, not even a day, went by without at least a small quarrel between Slytherin students, mostly Severus Snape, and students of her own House. From the look of it, they had just had another violent encounter in the halls._

_Minerva was just happy Transfiguration wasn't one of the courses Slytherin and Gryffindor attended together. It was the last class of the afternoon, double-Transfiguration for Ravenclaw and Slytherin third-years. This day's topic was Reverse Transfiguration. The students were supposed to turn their items from the last lesson back into handbags. The students were working more or less silently, and Minerva McGonagall let her eyes wander across the boys and girls. Later, she would have to walk from desk to desk to examine the students' performance, but it also helped a lot to watch them now, without their knowledge._

_Most of the students worked in pairs or small groups, helping each other. There were those who got the spell right easily, others had to try several times. Some were concentrating, some apparently had their thoughts at the upcoming Quidditch Season rather than today's lesson. _

_Severus Snape cut another example. The boy was alone in the back row. Sitting on the edge of his stool, he was deeply hunched over the cabbage on his desk. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, giving his pale face a rather grim, almost menacing appearance._

_Minerva had watched him for a while now. No doubt he was talented, although Transfiguration apparently wasn't his strongest subject. His wandwork was neat, his incantations accurate. Yet he did not succeed in his task, and it seemed to bug him considerably._

_Oh, yes. Severus Snape had quite a temper. One could see it even now. The way his small shoulders tensed every time he raised the wand, his knuckles, protruding white and tense from the back of his hands, it all spoke of ambition and impatience to get it right._

_Time and again she watched him pronouncing the spell. The cabbage would quiver, a faint glow emanating from its edges. And then it would stop abruptly, either lying still or bumping loudly across the desk and down onto the floor, the crease between his dark brows getting deeper with every failed attempt._

_Minerva observed him throwing dark, spiteful glances at the giggling Ravenclaw girls to his left every so often. She'd have to watch him there, quick with his wand and nasty with his hexes, as he was. In his ill-temperedness, Snape was never far from vindictive revenge for merely being looked at the wrong way. A touchy young man, not only as far as his ambition and pride were concerned. Seldom had he misbehaved during class, though, and he controlled himself this time, too._

_Minerva stood and walked slowly between the rows of students, correcting the wand movement here, the spell pronunciation there, and gradually made her way towards the last bench._

_She was only a few steps away from the brooding boy when Severus Snape exasperatedly threw his wand down on the table. She heard him growl, 'Bloody cabbage!' as he slouched back into his chair, irritation rather than frustration in his voice._

_It was an instinctive move, a gesture of affirmation. She made it with all of her students, and she definitely meant no harm as she touched his shoulder, encouraging him to try the spell again._

_Perhaps he hadn't heard her approach – no, he definitely hadn't, as absorbed in his task as he had been. In any case, he stood up and spun around quickly, knocking his chair over in the process._

_For a moment, Minerva thought she could see panic in his eyes, and his rushed reaction certainly seemed to confirm just that, but whatever it had been, it was covered immediately by an expression of fury. "Don't. Touch. Me," he hissed, his dark eyes burning into hers. He had that look. That look of strong rejection, yes, even contempt, and Minerva wondered what it was that made him react so strongly to such an innocent action._

_It took all of Minerva McGonagall's self-control not to admonish him about his rude outburst, but she had to make allowances for his astonishment. "Now, now, Mr Snape. I didn't mean to take you by surprise. Why don't you sit down and try the spell again?" she suggested stiffly, having difficulties voicing the gentle tone she had intended._

_The boy did as proposed, however grudgingly, glaring daggers at his fellow students, who had witnessed his outburst and were now staring at him, Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike. Minerva took her time to explain the Transfiguration once again. It wasn't that he was lacking talent or magical strength. She had seen him only a week ago at the Duelling Club, and he certainly had both, all right. But standing next to him now, Minerva could feel aversion and unwillingness literally pouring out of him._

_Focus on the task at hand was, of course, important to cast a spell successfully. But whilst Severus Snape had no problem at all with concentration, he was obviously lacking the mental understanding for the process itself, which was at least as important as the technical performance. She told him so and was met with a more than sceptical glare. The boy did not need to speak, his face spoke volumes; it was an expression of bored indifference. If anything, he was irritable that she had dared to correct him in front of the class._

_It shouldn't have surprised her that she heard him muttering derisively, "Such crap – as if any of us needed a handbag, anyway," as he collected his books later. His face hidden behind a curtain of unwashed black hair, Minerva could only guess about his expression when a muttered tirade of what had to be swearwords accompanied his exit. He certainly had quite a vocabulary there._

mgmg

That was Severus Snape for you – awfully reclusive and taciturn, yet when he opened his mouth whatever came out was just ill-mannered and stroppy.

The boy had spent that evening in his third year in detention, not for his rudeness, but for hexing a Gryffindor first-year in the halls. As it had happened so very often, Minerva McGonagall had no idea at all what had caused this particular incident. For all she knew, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had somehow been present as well, yet they had protested their innocence. They had just been witnesses to Snape hexing the first-year for no reason at all, they had said.

Although Minerva suspected that the boys of her own House had not been completely uninvolved in the whole affair, she couldn't prove anything. Gryffindor's quartet and Severus Snape had a history of their own. They could not be within wand distance without leaping at each other's throats, often enough in the literal sense of the saying. On more than a few occasions, a third person had ended up in the line of fire.

And Snape's reaction had been stubborn silence. Gone were the days where he'd been white, shaking with fury, blaming everybody and anybody, crying, 'Their fault!' at the world.

"I'll get detention anyway, so there's no use in repeating it all over again," he had said morosely, glaring daggers at Lupin and Black. But he had been right, of course. It had been him hexing another student, after all, and a younger one at that.

That time – like so many others – Snape had dragged his grudge over the following weeks, waiting for his opportunity to strike back, or so it had seemed to Minerva. At least she'd had smelled a rat when 'her boys' had to spent detention with caretaker Pringle during the Halloween feast, and – by pure chance – Severus Snape had stood smirking in the Entrance Hall, watching her march them off, towards the Caretaker's office. Minerva could have wagered her hat that Snape somehow had his fingers in the pie. His sneer had just been too spiteful.

James Potter had seen it as well. "You better watch it, Snape!" he had growled at the other boy.

That was how things had been between them. Sure enough there had been consequences, yet Minerva didn't know them.

It was the fate of a teacher to only know fractions of what was going on between the students. They simply could not have their ears and eyes everywhere. Anyway, the students were to be encouraged to sort their quarrels out on their own. And that they did, in their own special way, and often enough just by a hair's breadth within the bounds of the school rules. It wasn't always easy to watch them argue and fight without interfering. Potter, Black and Snape even seemed to surpass all other students in their never-ending feud.

Horace – the Head of Slytherin House at that time – had not taken too narrow a view of it. 'They are boys, Minerva,' he used to say, 'that's what they do.'

And Minerva herself? Of course she'd been displeased about 'her boys' hatching trouble whenever they stuck their heads together. The countless times she had had to supervise detentions or had to give them a telling-off had been somewhat annoying. But their pranks had usually been just that, silly pranks.

Actually, Minerva had to admit it had been even amusing at times to watch Black and Potter – for they were definitely the heart of Gryffindor's quartet – wriggle themselves out of any precarious situation they had gotten themselves into. With the most innocent expression they would look at her, protesting their blamelessness or at least trying to reduce their reprimand to a minimum. They had always been highly imaginative to come up with excuses as to why and how their transgressions had happened.

Certainly there had never been any ill-will behind their mischief. As for the rows they had gotten into with Snape… well, Minerva couldn't say that Severus Snape hadn't asked for trouble with his rude behaviour and his offensive tones.

As little as Minerva knew about the reasons for that day's argument, she knew little of what had caused the antipathies between Severus Snape and 'her boys' in the first place. They didn't seem to need any reason to have a row.

Fights and secret nightly duels had been a given with Snape and 'her boys', especially James and Sirius, and if they had not been fighting, there had at least been dirty looks during meals and spiteful remarks in the halls. They had been each other's equal in every way and no telling-off, no detention, had any effect on any of them.

Minerva McGonagall sighed. There was no point in blaming one or the other party now. Sirius Black and James Potter, the infamous pair, had been no saints; far from that, actually. Minerva was aware of that, but it always takes two to tango – or five, as in this special case – and Severus Snape had been no choirboy, either…

'_Choirboy. No, definitely not!'_

Minerva shook her head. _Heavens, this boy has become a murderer – a multiple one at that!_ She might have greatly disliked Severus Snape, but at that time she had not yet even dared to imagine what the pale, unpleasant Slytherin might turn out to be.

Suddenly Minerva felt like having more than one Scotch. That was, of course, out of question. For one, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to stop herself once she started to drown her despair with the golden liquid. A clear head, however, was the least she'd need to face the following day.

Anyway, she wasn't likely to find any single-malt here in Albus' office, where everything edible was either of the most bizarre taste or unbearably sweet. The taste of liquor was the one thing the two of them had never agreed upon.

Minerva's glance wandered across the office to the high bookshelf. There, on the upper shelf, behind an old leather-bound tome, the first edition of '_Twelve uses of Dragon blood – a treatise by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore'_, she knew Albus kept a little flask of bilberry liqueur. 'A sweet drop in fateful moment,' Albus had always said, falling back on humour and sweets when other people's stomachs turned.

Fateful moment. If this night wasn't a fateful one, then what time was?

The idea alone made her feel sick. Yet it wasn't so much the thought of the thick and sweet ruby liquid that made her gorge rise, but rather the reminiscence of Albus and of the horrible events of the last hours. She leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. Removing her glasses and placing them on the table, next to a pile of unfinished invitations, Minerva started massaging the bridge of her nose as her mind wandered back to the man that had brought all the misery on this night.

Snape.

'_Merlin, did I dislike the boy', _Minerva thought, reflecting what she remembered of Severus Snape's schooldays.

The boy had been a nuisance, neither popular with staff, nor with his fellow students, a little telltale and a smart-aleck. His intentions had seldom been innocent. It certainly had not been just 'her boys' he had gotten into trouble with. Whatever happened, Snape was mostly the first to put the blame on the others, and even quicker to take revenge.

Another incident came to Minerva's mind, or rather a whole series of them, one of which she had come to experience first hand. Like many students that age, Severus Snape, up to then lanky and short, had undergone a growth spurt at the age of fifteen. Within weeks he had grown at least two inches, rendering him even more painfully thin and resulting in the well-known symptoms.

It had been the Friday morning joined Slytherin-Ravenclaw class. Snape had already looked unwell when he entered the classroom, yet had snottily assured her he was just fine, as if suggesting otherwise was a terrible insult. Yet he obviously wasn't, as became quite clear when a sudden bustle in the back rows disturbed Minerva in mid-lesson.

Severus Snape, apparently having lost consciousness, had noiselessly slid down his chair and was now hanging rather lopsidedly on the workbench, his wand having slipped from between his slack fingers. Some girls sniggered nervously, the boys coolly scoffed at their classmate's awkward situation. The Slytherins glowered darkly at the Ravenclaws, as if it was their fault, yet did not take any action, either. The only one trying to help was Evan Rosier, shaking his friend and lightly slapping him on his cheeks.

Minerva rushed to help, fishing a vial of smelling salts from the folds of her teaching robe. It was no uncommon occurrence with students of that age, circulatory disorders being a frequent accompanying symptom of puberty. The magical strain coming along with practising exhausting Transfigurations did the rest; a problem more common with young witches, admittedly. Yet Minerva's little flask had brought a number of students back to consciousness already, and Severus Snape was no exception to that rule, either.

He was, however, not in the least appreciative of the help offered. Ill-bred sprang to Minerva's mind at first, and that certainly about covered it. Obviously, Severus hadn't learnt to deal with the embarrassment and ire, he undoubtedly felt, in any other way than to lash out at his putative opponent. That immature remark 'You're such a girl, Snape! Fainting like a…" that accompanied his departure to the Infirmary was met with a quickly drawn wand and a well-placed hex, and resulted in Minerva assigning detentions and Adrian Thistlebloom being cursed with red, itchy pustules for the weekend.

Yes, Severus Snape had quite a temper. His nearly hexing the Hufflepuff witch during his Sorting or the incident with the Gobstones set had just been a small insights into the irascibility of the otherwise introverted boy. It wasn't mere rudeness, though. It seemed to be more a measure of security on his part. Perhaps in accordance with the motto 'offence is the best defence'. It had caused him trouble more than once.

Spontaneously, even without having to think a lot, Minerva could recall at least a dozen of occasions, when he had been more than eager to rise to the bait of his classmates. Often enough it just needed a wrong look to tick him off.

And the four Gryffindors seemed to be like a red rag to a bull for Severus Snape. Minerva had no idea about the reasons behind this dislike. It certainly was mutual, though none of the wizards had ever offered her any explanation, not 'her boys' and definitely not Severus Snape.

Whether it had been brawls on the Hogwarts Express or insulting tirades in front of the classroom doors, whether they had it out during the Duelling Club or cursed each other from behind in the halls, they never managed to settle whatever it was that stood between them, nor was any of them put off by the impending detentions. It had been a vicious circle of taking revenge and being paid back for it.

Some time during their schooling, things had gotten out of hand; when, though, she couldn't say. Neither did Minerva have any idea how things could have gone so far as they had. Nobody had seen it coming.

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**A/N:** Chapter Two… I hope you liked it.

I want to thank all my reviewers for their kind reviews. You will find my answers to your reviews on my livejournal. The link is on my profile site here on really appreciate all feedback offered, and therefore once again, dear readers, I ask you for your reviews. Keep them coming, please, they mean so much to me!!

Thank you all,

Haley :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** J. K. Rowling's created these wonderful characters. I am merely releasing them from their state of enforced inactiveness for the time being...

**BETA READER:** snarkyroxy - thanks a lot for your help!

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**Chapter Three**

Some time during their schooling, things had gotten out of hand; when, though, she couldn't say. Neither did Minerva have any idea how things could have gone so far as they had. Nobody had seen it coming.

mgmg

_The Headmaster's summons via the Floo came shortly after midnight. The school year neared its end, bringing enormous amounts of assignments to grade and essays to correct. Minerva McGonagall reluctantly placed her quill into its brass holder and closed the ink pot. Muttering a _Siccare _to avoid smearing the red ink all over the fourth year's essay, she wondered what might be the reason for this urgent call in the middle of the night._

_She didn't have to speculate too long, though. Reaching the grand staircase, Minerva heard the panting breathing of Hogwarts resident Potions master and Head of Slytherin House, Horace Slughorn. She waited for the pot-bellied man to work himself up the stairs. He was an unfamiliar sight this night, dressed in casual clothing, a heavy dragon hide apron still tied around his stomach, his fashionable robe, normally neat and tidy, crumpled, the collar turned down._

"_G'night, Minerva," he grumbled as he reached the landing. Horace then stood, gasping, before he continued. "One day these stairs are going to the death of me," he panted._

"_No, Horace," Minerva answered, laughing, as they both continued their way up to the Headmaster's office, "one day good wines and crystallised pineapples are going to be the death of you."_

"_Minerva, you're such a spoilsport!" Horace complained jokingly. "Begrudging an old man the one pleasure he has in life."_

_Minerva only snorted. If anybody was an expert in 'savoir-vivre' it was Horace Slughorn. "If I remember correctly, you've just last weekend been to the Ministry's annual charity meeting, Horace," she teased sharply, "and by pure chance I happen to know that they have not replaced the customary five-course dinner with bread and water."_

"_Ah, you know me too well, my dear!" Horace laughed, patting Minerva's arm. "Any idea of the reason for this 'witching hour' meeting?"_

"_I've no idea, Horace," Minerva answered honestly, "I'd venture a guess, though, seeing that you have gotten the same call," she muttered darkly. It really wasn't hard to guess these days, which students were concerned when the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor were summoned to the Headmaster's office._

"_Yeah, well… seems to have become a habit, hasn't it," Slughorn said easily. How the man could take all these quarrels so lightly was beyond Minerva's understanding, and it annoyed her._

"_You sure you've not lost track of your students, Horace?" she quipped. "Are they all sound asleep in their beds?"_

_It had come across too harsh, she recognized, the moment Horace huffed next to her. Merlin, she'd surely had enough of this! One and a half years to go and they'd all be gone for good! During the last years she had on more than one occasion brooded on whether or not she was still suited for the job. It wasn't that she disliked teaching or dealing with the students - far from that - the tense situation outside the castle's safe walls, however, was tearing on her nerves and made it all the more difficult for her to cope with inter-house enmity._

"_I do believe you're in need of a good long vacation, Minerva, so going to ignore this underlying insinuation, just this once."_

_My, Horace truly sounded miffed, and rightly so. She wasn't prejudiced against Slytherin. She really was not and tried so hard not to be. It was just damn hard not to lump everyone in that House together. "Just because one or two more famous representatives of my House have decided on more… let's say 'extremist' positions, it doesn't mean we're all on the same road, Minerva!"_

"_I know, Horace, I know. I'm sorry," Minerva replied, rather guiltily. Her older colleague was right of course, but sometimes, in face of the spreading racism and terror, it was hard to stay unprejudiced. Too many of the newly forming Dark Army were Slytherins._

_They had reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the staircase to the Headmaster's office. It sprung open at once, its shadow becoming distorted in the most eerie way in the silvery full-moon's light. Minerva shook her head as she followed Horace up the spiral staircase. This did not bode well._

_The Headmaster's office presented a strange view. Several things caught Minerva's eye immediately upon entrance, as she glanced over Horace Slughorn's shoulder, and she stopped dead in the doorway._

_Several candlesticks with newly added candles brightly lit the Headmaster's desk. This was going to be a long meeting._

_Heaps of parchment, open books and a half-emptied tea-cup showed that Albus had been surprised by this incident, too, whatever it was._

_Albus stood, facing the window, his head lowered, hands propped up against the window-sill. He still wore his purple house coat._

_Next to Albus, Fawkes was on his perch, shifting restlessly, spreading his wings and ruffling his feathers. The bird was nervous, more so than Minerva had ever seen it. So was the Headmaster, if the phoenix was as much a familiar to Albus as she had always thought him to be._

_The rest of the office was only dimly lit, walls and corners lay in the dark._

_Six chairs had been placed around the desk, four to its right, two to its left. Albus clearly was awaiting more visitors._

_The atmosphere was tense, and when Albus did not react upon their entrance Minerva was thankful for Horace's blunt and unswerving nature. "What's the matter, Albus?" he barked, entering the office and lowering himself into a chair right away. Yet Albus did still not react._

_Minerva heard a rustle to her right then and spun around, stunned, not having noticed anybody else before._

_She really shouldn't have been surprised, as these meetings usually had only one reason. Yet today, the circumstances having had their effect, the sight of James Potter set her teeth on edge and she narrowed her eyes on him, critically._

"_Professors," the young man mumbled, nodding at her, but it did nothing to calm Minerva's worries, on the contrary._

_She knew a bad conscience if she saw one. And James Potter certainly had something on his mind. Gone was his usually cool and overconfident behaviour. Now, he stood slightly hunched, staring at his shoes. He nibbled on his lower lip, uncertainly squinting up at his Head of House from beneath a mop of tousled black hair._

_It only caused Minerva to look him over even more sternly. "Mr Potter," she acknowledged him, her voice sharp. He seemed to become conscious of his behaviour and stopped nibbling his lip, then smiled at her, somewhat sheepishly._

_The boy had something, she'd always known it, something that made it impossible to be cross with him for any significant length of time, whatever trick he had played. But now he clearly felt more than uncomfortable. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he brought the left one up, his right arm clasping his stomach, and started biting his fingernails instead._

_Horace Slughorn had turned around in his chair. Recognizing James Potter, he winked at Minerva. "Now, what were you saying about my students not being sound asleep, Minerva?" he asked._

_Minerva cleared her throat uncomfortably, then swallowed, thereby nearly missing James Potter shifting uneasily from one foot to the other at Slughorn's words._

"_Albus, what happened? What are we waiting for?" she asked, taking a step towards the desk._

_She winced when she saw the older wizard turn around, his face worried, yes, even pained. Yet before Albus could say anything, the door opened again and Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew entered the office. Still in their school robes, they had obviously not been to bed either. In an instant Minerva saw the tense glances the boys threw at each other: James Potter's face guilty, Sirius Black's questioning, somewhat furtive and Peter Pettigrew's insecure, seeking encouragement from Potter._

_No, this certainly did not bode well, and the Slytherin part of this little meeting was still missing._

"_Albus?" Minerva inquired again, suddenly sure that she was not going to like what was to follow._

_Albus gave the three boys a long, stern and scrutinizing glance before he nodded towards the chairs to his left. "Take a seat," he said sombrely, and Minerva firmly gestured the boys to comply immediately._

_Black tried signalling something to Potter, who firmly shook his head at his friend, an expressive look on his face. Black didn't seem satisfied, though, shrugged and mouthed a confused 'What?' towards the other boy._

"_Silence now, Black, Potter!" Minerva snapped at them, placing a firm hand on each boy's shoulders. "Whatever you've been up to this time, you're in serious trouble already and Merlin help you if you're going to make everything worse by your unruly behaviour."_

_Albus had remained unusually silent. He who normally always protected the students if Minerva's harshness was getting away with her, was now watching the three boys attentively, his eyes remaining on each of them for a while. Minerva couldn't be sure, but she suspected Albus was using more than his ability to judge character here._

_When he spoke, the Headmaster's voice was solemn, his face grave. "Minerva, Horace," he said, "this night there's been a serious incident involving one of your students, Horace: Severus Snape…"_

'Now, why am I not surprised?' _Minerva asked herself, her eyes wandering from the Headmaster to her colleague, who suddenly seemed much more alert than before. Then she followed Horace's critical glance and studied her own House's students. If anything had changed in their faces, James looked even more guilty, Peter's expression had become a worried one and Sirius Black stared darkly at the opposite wall of the room._

_Albus wasn't finished though. "…and the missing part of Gryffindor's quartet: Remus Lupin."_

'Merlin!' _Minerva thought, as suddenly the facts slid together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "No!" she gasped. "Albus! What happened? Is anybody hurt?"_

_Before Albus could continue, though, muffled voices were heard from outside the office. Minerva could discern the insistent words of Hogwarts' Mediwitch Poppy Pomfrey, which were suddenly interrupted by Severus Snape's infuriated voice. "No, I'm bloody well not taking your stupid Calming Draught; now leave me the hell alone!"_

_The door opened with a bang, and a pale and ruffled-looking Severus Snape stood in the doorway. He gave a somewhat worn-out impression. Following the Headmaster's gentle, "Ah, Mr Snape, please enter!" the boy straightened, however, his eyes darting quickly around the room. If looks could kill, Gryffindor would have been three students and two teachers short within seconds._

_The situation, already tense to the point of tearing, seemed to escalate, though, as Potter, tried to stand, muttering an awkward, "Snape…." yet was held back by Black._

_Severus Snape had his wand out in an instant, as had Black, Potter and Pettigrew._

_Minerva and Horace were at their students' sides immediately, trying to prevent the seemingly unavoidable escalation. This was going to be difficult._

_Snape shrugged his teacher's hand away. His face displayed utmost irritation, yet there was also something else, an almost malicious glee. The air flickering around him, he spat, "Just shut your face, Potter. This time's been one too many!" To Slughorn, he continued, "And don't _you_ touch me!" His eyes were gleaming almost madly as he collapsed into the last empty chair. Even now, obviously tired and shaken, Severus Snape had something dark and hostile about him and Minerva did not like it._

"_Silence now, all of you!" Albus barked, something he seldom did and only if the situation required a clampdown._

_The students had understood his tone as well and settled down again, albeit reluctantly. They were still agitated and glaring daggers at each other across the room. Minerva questioned whether they were likely to listen at all to what the Headmaster was going to say._

_She, however, would listen closely, for she still didn't know exactly what had happened._

_Albus Dumbledore breathed deeply. His hands tightly clutching the chair back, he looked at every single one of the boys before continuing in a frighteningly calm voice. "You all know why we are here tonight. Mr Snape here had a not-quite-coincidental, yet rather unexpected and therefore nearly fatal encounter with a werewolf tonight. This is a very serious situation, and one that should never have happened…"_

_At that moment, a sarcastic snort was to be heard from Snape, yet the Headmaster ignored it. "…though obviously having laid too much confidence in the responsibility of juvenile boys, I am partly to blame myself. I am, however, truly disappointed, and this incident cannot possibly go without consequences."_

_Minerva's eyes were closely on her students; for a moment, however, she glanced over to Snape, just to see a look of triumph flickering over his pale face. _'What is going on here?' _she wondered._

_Then James Potter straightened in his chair, quickly exchanging glances with Black._

"_You have something to say to this, Mr Potter?" the Headmaster asked gravely._

"_I- yes." James swallowed thickly. Seldom had Minerva seen the boy this subdued. "Remus has nothing to do with it. He… he didn't know."_

"_Liar!" was Snape's immediate, quick-tempered response. "Of course he-" But he was cut short by Horace's soothing hand and Albus', "A moment, please, Mr Snape. All in due time."_

_And Snape turned silent. Though obviously miffed, he leaned back into his chair, a dark scowl on his face._

"_Now, Mr Potter, you claim Mr Lupin did not know about this… 'plan'? Did _you_ know, then?"_

'What plan?' _Minerva asked herself. _'Surely he cannot mean this had been an organised prank?'

"_I…" James hesitated, looking down to his lap, but Minerva saw Peter's eyes darting quickly between Black and Potter. "I… could have guessed, but… I didn't know… not until…" He stopped, biting his lip again._

"_What, Potter?" Minerva asked sharply. "Or can _you_ tell me more, Pettigrew? Black?" She stared at them pointedly, not wanting to believe what was being uncovered here._

"_I didn't know either!" Pettigrew said hastily._

"_As if!" Snape snapped sarcastically. "They're all lying!"_

_Suddenly James looked at the Headmaster pleadingly. "You have to believe me, Professor Dumbledore; Remus… he… he didn't know… he mustn't know… he'd never…" James threw a pained, somewhat guilty glance at Black. "He'd never agreed." _So, it was Black's doing, but what…?

_Albus straightened, coming around the desk. "So _you_ did know what Mr Snape here was going to do and yet you did not try to prevent it in time, Mr Black?" he inquired, his eyes firmly fixing Sirius Black._

_Black did not look at the Headmaster, but glared darkly at Snape. "He's spied on us the whole year," he said scornfully._

"_It was your idea, then, to lure him – I understand that's what you did?"_

_Black shrugged. "If you want to call it that…."_

"_Mr Black, a bit more detail, if you could. What did you tell Mr Snape?"_

"_I merely told him that he would find something interesting at the Shack, something having to do with Remus. How should I have known he'd run there right away?"_

_Minerva couldn't believe it. "Sirius Black!" she snapped exasperatedly, shocked how the boy could be so hateful against his Slytherin classmate._

"_What concern is it to me, if he can't keep his overly large nose out of other people's business!"_

"_Sirius! Stop it!" James hissed, elbowing his friend in the ribs._

_Black only shrugged. "But it's true. It's none of _his_ damned business." He nodded derisively in Snape's direction. "Anyway, he just got what he deserved…" He continued muttering something else, yet Minerva didn't understand any of it, as his words were drowned out by Potter's insistent whispering._

"_Oh, for Merlin's sake, Sirius, just listen to yourself. Did you think about Remus for one second? What if he… you know… he couldn't… damn it, Sirius, this could have gone so wrong!"_

_While all of this was right, of course, Minerva did not look forward to the prospect of telling Remus Lupin that he had come within hair's breadth of killing a fellow student. The boy had difficulties enough, coping with his condition. So, while all of this was true and right, Minerva was shocked that her students' concern seemed to be only and exclusively directed at Remus, not also at his almost victim._

"_Sure! Now Lupin's the poor and abused, is he?" Snape sneered. "The next second it will be my fault alone, won't it?"_

"_Oh, shut it, Snape! Nobody told you to go to the shack. It's entirely…."_

_Within a moment the boys were arguing wildly, and this time it was Horace's sonorous "Silence, boys!" that brought them to silence._

"_Now, Severus," he said. "Why don't you tell your view of the whole story?"_

_Minerva nipped any protest from her boys in the bud with one of her infamous looks._

"_Do proceed, Severus!" Albus nodded._

"_Frankly, what's there to discuss?" Snape addressed the Headmaster, sardonically. "They attempted to get me killed by a class five designated Dark Creature that you are keeping at the school, Headmaster, and-!"_

"_A decision I did not make lightly, I can assure you, yet one I have never regretted and do not now. Tell me, Mr Snape, have you ever before felt any threat to your life in the presence of Mr Lupin?"_

_Snape scowled darkly. "By Lupin? No, but…"_

"_What happened to you, Mr Snape, was a terrible accident, one that should never have happened, and I am truly sorry for it, my boy, you have to believe me." Albus was clearly shaken by this incident, suddenly looking worn-out and aged._

_Snape huffed. "A terrible accident!" he scoffed. "Attempted murder – that's what it was!"_

_Minerva saw Albus flinch at these hard words of accusation. "Surely that's not been the case, Mr Snape," he said quietly, yet sending inquiring glances at Black and Potter._

_But Snape talked himself into a rage then. "Attempted murder! I'm sure they hatched it together. 'Teaching slimy Snape a lesson.' They were _all_ in on it. Black, Potter, Lupin – all of them. I presume I am supposed to be grateful now as well, for Potter getting cold feet, am I? Well, I'll tell you what, Potter, I am not!"_

"_Courageous now, are you, Snape?" Black sneered. "I've been told you've had the jitters an hour ago, _Snivellus_!"_

_The situation was on the verge of becoming explosive once again._

"_Twenty points from Gryffindor for your tone, Mr Black. That's quite enough now!" Minerva truly was disgusted._

_Severus Snape, however, had become pale at Black's words. Part of it was a reaction of his anger, Minerva was sure of it, but the near-encounter with a fully grown werewolf apparently had shaken him more than he was willing to let on. She could see his fingers cramping around the armrest, and little beads of sweat glittered on his trembling upper-lip._

"_I'm going to get you for that, Black!" he hissed. "You're so going to pay!"_

"_And that goes for you, too, Severus. That's enough now!" Horace placed a firm hand on his student's shoulder, yet Snape once again shrugged it away._

_Albus had been silent, thoughtfully listening to the boys' words. He sighed heavily now, sitting down behind his desk._

"_As I said before, this is a serious incident. I cannot believe how you could have acted so irresponsibly, all of you! Yes, that goes for you, as well, Mr Snape!" Albus added at Snape's snort. "Whereas these three young men here were immaturely and recklessly endangering your life…" the Headmaster looked at Black "…or were failing to prevent what was to follow…" Albus nodded meaningful at Pettigrew and Potter, "…your fault, Mr Snape, lays in leaving the castle after curfew and without permission."_

_The three Gryffindors were very silent and tense. Surely they knew their behaviour had been absolutely unacceptable, an expulsion pending at least for Sirius Black. The House Cup – Gryffindor's victory had been foreseeable – was now farther away than ever._

_Snape, however, seemed to be certain of victory, a confident, yes, even gloating smile on his face. Minerva couldn't help but think that it had perhaps been more than pure coincidence on Snape's part that had lead him to the Whomping Willow._ He's too self-assured_, Minerva suddenly thought._

_Yet when the Headmaster spoke, she knew he was not going to take the most drastic measures._

"_I don't know how to express my disappointment with your behaviour," he addressed Black, Potter and Pettigrew. "Not only have you immaturely let yourself being carried away by petty House rivalry, no, you furthermore endangered a fellow student's life and your friend's well-being. Rest assured that I will not tolerate any one of you breaking the school rules like this again."_

_A deep scowl had become visible on Severus Snape's face at these words, yet he kept quiet, struggling with himself to do so._

"_Now for your punishment: One-hundred-and-twenty points will be deducted from Gryffindor, and you, Mr Black, will spend two evenings per week in detention with either Mr Filch, or any other member of staff, for the remainder of the year. Do not complain." Albus cut down any argument on Black's part. "I know very well that the concept of house points is lost with students of your age. The detention will be colliding with your revision time, of course, but you'll have to blame yourself for that. And remember, Sirius, not another step out of line!"_

_Snape couldn't keep quiet anymore. "What?" He gave a disbelieving laugh. "That's it? Points and some bloody detentions?"_

"_No harm's been done, Mr Snape. You have not been injured, or have you?" Albus asked seriously._

"_No, but that's bloody well not the point! They tried to kill me, Headmaster! They should be expelled, all of them!"_

"_Now, Mr Snape, that is a very serious accusation, and one that – _Iknow for sure – _cannot possibly be correct. I believe in due time you'll come to see, as well, that this has been a simply prank. A prank gone terribly wrong, mind you, but not attempted murder."_

"_I should have known you'd believe them, not a Slytherin," Snape said glumly, slouching back into his chair._

"_Severus, I'm sure this has nothing to do with our House," Horace pointed out quietly._

"_I'd thought you at least would side with me, Professor, but as it seems I was mistaken…"_

_There was a silence. Snape staring darkly into nothingness, nervously fingering his wand. Albus and Horace were watching him closely. Minerva saw Albus' hand twitching as if to reach out to Snape. This had been difficult for him, but he'd made the best out of the situation. Expelling Black for this prank would have caused a series of unpleasant consequences, questions by the Ministry and, even worse, consequences for the young werewolf, Remus Lupin._

"_Now as for you, Mr Snape," Albus finally continued, "I told you already, you left the school after curfew, thereby violating the school rules and endangering yourself. As harsh as it might sound to you, had you not illicitly tried to enter the tunnel below the Whomping Willow, none of this would have ever happened. We agree on that, don't we, Mr Snape?"_

"_Is it my fault now, is it?" the boy glowered darkly._

"_No. I never said that. You are, however, partly to blame, and therefore forty points will be deducted from Slytherin and you'll attend a detention – with whom is yet to be determined."_

_The Gryffindors gloated, not quite subtly. Sirius Black threw a triumphant 'told-you-so'-glance at Potter and Pettigrew. The young man had no guilty conscience at all._

"_There's absolutely no need for you to rejoice, Messrs." Albus addressed them coolly. "Your lack of responsibility to begin with will cost Gryffindor fifty points each. I remind all of you, that this hostility between the five of you, cannot possibly go on. We're facing difficult times and it is important, now more than ever, to stand together."_

_The Headmaster remained silent then, letting his words sink in. But not only Snape had reacted with a dark grunt. Minerva heard Black mutter, "With him? Never!", Potter was looking more than sceptical and Pettigrew was staring at the floor._

"_Thirty points will be awarded to you, Mr Potter, however, for keeping a level head and saving Mr Snape from near death."_

_James' soft, "Thank you, Sir," was drowned out by Snape's acerbic laugh. _

"_Ridiculous!"_

"_I will, herewith, consider this matter over and done with." Albus ignored any objections. "And I remind all of you, once again, that your childish grudges have gone too far and will not be tolerated anymore. And that goes for all of you!"_

"_I don't have to remind you – and that's for your ears, especially, Mr Snape – that what you have learnt this night is a danger to Mr Lupin's education at this school, and therefore none of it will leave the walls of this room. Is this understood?"_

_Snape grunted, sarcastically. "You can't make me, Professor," he spat._

"_I don't intend to 'make you' do anything, Mr. Snape," Albus answered quietly. "I just want to remind you of the consequences of your choices, your actions. Now, listen to me, my boy…"_

_Minerva followed the conversation from behind her boys' chairs. Time and again she had to admonish them to silence, yet with no success. The three of them were smirking, and it didn't escape Snape's notice either. Only half-heartedly did he listen to the Headmaster's words, glowering darkly in their direction._

_Minerva couldn't help herself; she doubted Albus would achieve anything with this talk, not with her boys listening to what must seem to Severus Snape a solid telling-off, no matter how careful Albus chose his wording._

"_I appeal to your sympathy for your fellow student, Mr Snape; do not speak of this to anybody," Albus finally ended._

"_Sympathy!" Scorn gleamed in Snape's eyes. "You're keeping a Dark Creature at the school, one that nearly killed me. Surely, you don't expect me to-"_

"_What I expect from you, Mr Snape," Albus interrupted the boy, "I am making this quite clear, I hope, is absolute silence about the condition of your fellow student, Remus Lupin."_

"_Now what is it about you not making me do anything?" he muttered darkly, and Minerva couldn't help but agree with him. "I couldn't help it if I… say, accidentally let it slip, could I?" One didn't need to look too closely to see that Snape, irritated as he was, had no intention whatsoever of complying with the Headmaster's demand._

"_You wouldn't like the consequences, Mr Snape, I assure you. Is that quite clear now?"_

_Snape stood then, abruptly. "Crystal!" he snapped. "If this is all then, Headmaster, Professors." Hurt and anger were written all over his face as he stormed out of the office. It was quite obvious that he felt betrayed, not only by his fellow students, but by his teachers, as well.

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**A/N: **A story about Snape cannot go without a look on this incident, I thought. What do you think of Minerva's point of view on this night? Please leave me a review!

A big 'Thank you!' to all having reviewed already!! I really appreciate the feedback :0) As always, you can find the answers to your reviews on my livejournal.

Since the last chapter apparently caused some disapproval about how I described Snape's schooldays, I did some longer explaining why I wrote it that way. You can find my statement as well on my livejournal and I'd be happy to hear your opinions and to discuss, if you want to…

haley79


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** J. K. Rowling's created these wonderful characters. I am merely releasing them from their state of enforced inactiveness for the time being...

**BETA READER:** Unfortunately snarkyroxy does not have time to beta my story anymore at the moment. A thousand thanks for your help with the previous chapters, snark.

But, in every end there lies a new beginning: welcome, Potion Mistress, and thank you very much for taking over. I could not continue this story without your help!

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**Chapter Four**

Minerva McGonagall shivered as her mind returned to the here and now. It had been a similar night, clear and fresh – though uncharacteristically warm for April – and much like today she had stayed up very late. She, Albus, and Horace sat together for a long time, discussing what had happened.

_Goodness._ If Minerva imagined what might have been the outcome of that incident…. She didn't want to think about it.

One of her biggest fears had almost become true that night, and it was only thanks to James Potter's quick and considerate acting that nothing more had happened. Quite apart from the fact that things must have never gotten that far, in the first place.

_Heavens!_ She had uttered these fears about admitting a werewolf to Hogwarts, but never would she have comprehended for them to come that close.

It had taken her some time to assimilate what had happened, to shake off the trepidation that had taken hold of her.

In a way, she herself, Head of Gryffindor House, had felt responsible for it, at least to some extent. It had been Gryffindor's quartet, after all. How had it come to all of this, at all? _Nobody_ should have ever come close to Remus during the full-moon, but their precautionary measures had obviously failed completely. Had she been too lax with the students?

Looking back, she had to admit that yes, she had perhaps not been strict enough with the four boys. But hindsight is easier than foresight, and she had not believed any of them capable of serious misconduct. Well, not of this extent, in any case.

It had been a narrow escape. Minerva knew that very well, and she shuddered at the thought of it.

What had been of greatest concern for Minerva and her two colleagues had been the open enmity that had displayed itself in front of their eyes. They had to realise that they had been too quick at dismissing the relationship between 'her boys' and Severus Snape as simple childish dislike. These antipathies had developed into outright hatred over the years.

_How can I have_ not _seen it?,_ Minerva had asked herself back then, still almost dazed with shock about the near-catastrophe. She asked herself that question many times in the following years, but there was nothing to it. She had, quite simply, _not_ seen it coming.

Should she have foreseen it? Minerva had quarrelled with that question extensively, coming to the conclusion that perhaps her judgement and her principles had been mellowed. It had been a relief to see the four of them so close together, seemingly all Gryffindor problem children taken care of. Remus and Sirius had more than once caused her a sleepless night, but also James and Peter had profited of the four boys' friendship.

What had they missed, for the situation to escalate like this? Yes, they had been pranksters, but this could hardly be called a prank anymore. _'Attempted murder!',_ the young Severus Snape had called it.

They had all been shocked, indeed, and it had been of little consolation that Sirius Black had not deliberately sent Snape to the Shrieking Shack – Albus had been certain of that. The boy had, however, put up with the mortal danger he had exposed his Slytherin classmate to. That alone had been reason to worry. Where had this hatred come from?

Minerva had been more than worried about Black's difficult behaviour. In his sixth year, the dispute with his pure-blooded and conservative family seemed to have reached new dimensions. The boy had even fallen out with his brother, Regulus. The familial tension was unsettling Sirius, and he had been short-tempered and angry most of the time. Minerva had feared he might lose himself in his hatred and anger, and she knew what these kinds of emotions could do to a man's soul. How much more endangered was a boy, barely out of his adolescence?

Unlike many people's beliefs, it didn't take very much for a wizard to dabble in the Dark Arts, not few did so dewy-eyed, neither having the worst of intentions, nor knowing the dangers of the path they set foot on. Sometimes, all it took was an incisive incident, strong emotions, and rash acting -- circumstances the most decent man knew. And once lost in the quicksand that was the dark arts, it was difficult to return.

It had been a close thing, Minerva knew it. Sirius had a character as unstable as Snape's. Not for nothing had they all believed in his guilt after that horrible night at Godric's Hollow. It hadn't been all too far off, at that time, to think of Sirius Black as a Death Eater and traitor. They had all been devastated about the news, of course, yet with the solid evidence provided and given his more than volatile character…. Yes, they had believed Sirius guilty, and none of them had spent a second thought about whether or not his sentence was justified. At least Minerva hadn't.

She shook her head in despair. Sirius had been innocent after all. They had been mistaken, had terribly wronged him. Twelve years in Azkaban for a crime not committed….

_We should have known better,_ Minerva told herself. Sirius had changed after all, no matter how immature he still was where ever Severus Snape was concerned. But in this respect the two boys had been each other's equal in every way, and not even as grown men had they been able to put their antipathies aside.

This night's events had taken their toll on Sirius Black, though. He had become more mature, even if he had still stayed the big kid he'd always been. Minerva didn't dare think about what might have happened to the boy, had Albus expelled him from Hogwarts after that stunt he had pulled.

Sirius had been verily chastised for it. He hadn't seen sense about his misbehaviour, however, not regarding Snape in any case. Therefore, the Headmaster's assigned detention had probably had less influence on him than Remus Lupin's reaction, his disappointment about his friend's breach of trust.

Yes, the friendship between the four Gryffindors, up to then steadfast, had been shaken after this horrible night, apparently irretrievably. But Sirius had worked hard to rebuild his closeness to Remus Lupin, to regain his trust. It had taken time to rebuild their close friendship, then, however, the boys had become even more inseparable than before.

And Snape?

She had wanted to grab and shake him there in Albus' office, like one felt the urge to grab a boy who had just nearly broke his neck taking a dive with the broom snaffled out of his father's broom-shed. An irrational, instinctive urge to bring him to his senses, to make him realise the danger he had just escaped by hair's breadth. _Goodness, what could have happened to him, sneaking out of the castle like that!_

To say Severus Snape had reacted badly to all of this was an understatement. He had behaved impossibly during the following months, stubborn, rude, and refusing to work. He had, of course, not been able to talk with his Slytherin classmates about anything that had happened, not without risking whatever Albus had threatened him with. It hadn't kept him, however, from stirring things up and from trying to get Gryffindors into trouble.

_Merlin, what a horrible time!_ These last months before term ended had been nerve-wracking, to say the least. Minerva did not like thinking back to them. All boys had been kept on short leash by their Heads of House – oh, yes, Minerva had let them know her disappointment - and yet their relationship had been cool, the tension between them noticeable. Especially Black and Snape had been on the verge of hexing each other almost all of the time. Never had Minerva been as relieved when the Hogwarts Express had safely reached London, King's Cross.

Minerva McGonagall sighed, put her glasses back on and resumed her task. She really shouldn't dwell on these old times. They were over and done with, and a lot of dust had settled on them.

For a while the Headmistress worked silently and quickly, charming the scrolls of parchment to address themselves to the respective witches and wizards. The pile of cards containing the Ministry Officials was soon replaced by the next one: former and recent colleagues. She was getting along with her task rapidly. If she kept that speed, she would be finished by daybreak.

And yet Minerva's mind seemed determined to remain a bit longer in the memory of that night. Not until much later had Minerva realised how Severus Snape must have felt betrayed by his teachers, who had seemingly treated him unfairly, to say the least.

_Why do I now feel the need to justify our behaviour? _she asked herself. _Have I not been through with it already years ago?_ Apparently not….

Albus clearly had not made the decision easy for himself. He'd been in a dilemma. Any harsher punishment of Sirius Black – suspension or even an expulsion, both within the bounds of the school rules – would have inevitably led to the revelation of Remus Lupin's lycanthropy and thus to measures of repression by the Ministry for Magic. Everything Albus had risked for offering the talented boy a good education would have been pointless. His attempt to set a milestone for equal rights for the werewolf population would have failed. Quite apart from the fact that Remus would never have been able to cope with the consequences, not at that time.

_We did the right thing back then,_ Minerva told herself. _Why am I questioning it now of all times? This had been the only way to deal with it._

Yes, Albus had thought this through, and his decision had been fair, even mild – for all parties. And yet, had this night been one occasion – one of few – where Albus had made mistakes? Minerva had realised it. The first being his decision not to talk to the boys separately, another perhaps not to have punished Sirius Black more severely, the biggest, however, to have more or less blackmailed Severus Snape into silence – yes, blackmail, even if Albus' persuasive speeches were seldom recognisable as such.

It hadn't occurred to her until much later what effect this night might have had on the Slytherin boy. Her later colleague had never openly admitted anything to her, but from some of his actions Minerva could guess that he had not dealt all too well with all of it at that time.

Minerva knew there had been only two possibilities: either to give up having Remus Lupin at Hogwarts, or to keep his infection a secret, and thus to oblige everybody to keep silent. She knew, as well, that Severus Snape would not have agreed to it willingly, that any attempt to convince him would have been trying to achieve the impossible.

Albus _had_ tried, repeatedly, to talk to Severus Snape later, as had Horace, but the damage had been done. From what Albus had told her, these talks had been like him talking to the walls, and Snape sitting it out, sullen and not in the least understanding. Oh, she could vividly imagine it. She had gotten to know a good part of Severus Snape herself, after all. In to one ear, out of the other, and an expression so indifferent you had a good mind to slap him just to get any reaction at all. Not even Horace had gotten through to him.

'A lost case,' Minerva had said, relieved that Remus Lupin would not expect any dire consequences. And had it not been Severus Snape's own fault, at least to some extent? He had had no right to be at the shack, no matter what, and if she were to be honest, Minerva laid most of the blame on him – now more than ever.

Minerva McGonagall sighed. She had not always thought that way. Of course, the boy should have never gotten into that danger, and it wasn't his fault but theirs for not having protected the school better from the werewolf in the shack.

But the fact remained that Snape had been illicitly out on the grounds after curfew. And now? It was difficult for her, even in hindsight, to feel pity for young Severus Snape. _Heavens!_ The boy had become the murderer of Albus Dumbledore! How could she not be prejudiced against him now?

Suddenly Minerva recognised that she had once again interrupted her work to think about… _him_. Staring blankly at the bookcase across the room, she shifted in her seat and dejectedly wiped her face.

She still tried to understand, how things could have gotten to this stage with Snape. Over the years she had had to revise her opinion of the younger wizard several times in one or the other direction. And now it seemed she had to do it one last time. She didn't like to do so.

Yet it couldn't be helped. Minerva shuddered, suddenly all too conscious of the horrible attributes that were now inseparably associated to the name Severus Snape: Death Eater. Murderer.

Suddenly she shivered, feeling chilled to the bone. The office seemed to be so cold all of a sudden. Minerva McGonagall stood up. Wrapping her woollen shawl tighter around her shoulders, she stepped over to the fireplace, and with a quick flick of her wand lit a crackling fire.

For a while she just stood there motionless, staring into the dancing flames, watching how they licked at the logs like hungry tongues, feeling their heat on her skin. The heat was streaming through her, filling her with a pleasant, comforting warmth.

Many evenings she had spent in front of this fireplace, seated in one of the plush armchairs. Tenderly she now stroked the velvety back rest, let her fingers trail along the elaborate woodcarvings, tendrils of ivy twining around centaurs, unicorns and all other kinds of magical beings. Time-worn and old-fashioned these armchairs were, yet at the same time cosy beyond comparison.

They were painful mementos of the wizard who had regularly occupied them.

A hot teapot steaming between them, she and Albus had sat here for hours, discussing time tables and Quidditch programmes, the school's daily life as it concerned Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress.

She still remembered the occasion, when Albus had invited her here, for the first time. Still a young witch, only a few weeks into her new job as Transfiguration mistress, she had been terribly wound up, prior to this meeting. The great Albus Dumbledore, a prominent and powerful wizard, her predecessor as Transfiguration master and now Headmaster of Hogwarts had invited her to tea. Not to a tea with all members of staff, no, a personal meeting just between her and the Headmaster. She admired him, her great role model, and had been so afraid not to live up to his expectations.

It had been Albus who had persuaded her to apply for the position. How surprised she had been when the owl had brought her former teacher's letter. Never had she thought of a career as a teacher herself. And yet it had been this letter, Albus Dumbledore's encouragement that had torn her out of her monotonous daily routine at the Ministry's Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes; from a grey and sterile cubicle and heaps of dull case files into a beehive of a school.

Her life had taken quite a turn at that time and it had been Albus, who had guided her through undeniably challenging times as a young teacher. He had become her mentor, and later her friend. This evening in advent 1956 had only been the first of a series to follow, the beginning of a strong friendship. And now all that should be gone?

Minerva's fingers fiercely grabbed the back of the armchair, as she lowered her head, breathing deeply to fight the tears welling up in her eyes. Once again grief took hold of her heart, the loss of her friend tearing at it so hard that it physically hurt. A sob escaped her chest, yet she suppressed it, half underway, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths to regain control again. She mustn't let herself go.

"At the end of even the darkest tunnel there is light, Minerva," Albus' voice suddenly sounded in her ears, warm and comforting, so real it made her heart stop for a moment, and caused her to instinctively turn around to him. Yet the room was empty, only the flames' ghostly shadows flickered across the walls, performing their dervish-like dances on furniture and objects, likewise.

Her eyes then narrowed, attentively scrutinising the very last in the row of portraits for movement or any other sign of consciousness. Yet there wasn't any.

"Albus?" she asked tentatively, suspecting that what she thought had happened was unreal, yet desperately clinging to the faint hope that the portrait had actually awaken. "Albus, are you awake?" she asked again, louder now, that irrational, desperate hope causing her voice to crack.

"Of course, he's not awake, witch!"

Minerva jumped at the sudden interruption, her hand instinctively reaching for the wand she carried. Somehow she'd actually thought herself to be alone in the office; alone with Albus, at least.

"You didn't honestly think having become a portrait only hours ago, he'd be out and about right away?" The voice, Minerva now recognised as Phineas Nigellus Black's impolite snarl, piped up again. "Dear me, you did!"

Stashing her wand back into its hidden holster - she could do without the unpleasant man discerning her edginess – Minerva glanced over to the dark and sinister wizard, whose portrait was hanging several positions to the left of Albus'. The wizard was well-known to her. Not for nothing, Phineas was of often referred to as Hogwarts' least popular headmaster. The man had no manners at all.

Droning out Black's ongoing sally of accusations and insults, Minerva processed the new information. She'd never actually thought about the nature of portraits and the magic working behind to keep their image alive. Reflecting on it, what Phineas had said actually made sense. Of course it would need time for the portrait to fully develop, for the relict of the deceased's aura to unfold.

"… to be at one's beck and call all the time!" Phineas' voice tore her out of her thoughts. "Humph! Now he can experience first hand!" The irritable wizard finished his tirade. "Serves him right, the old coot!" Then he slouched back into his chair, closing his eyes.

Disbelievingly, Minerva stared at the wall of portraits. The office was silent again. Albus, like the other portraits, was sound asleep. She could only hope he'd awake soon and provide her with consolation and moral support, if nothing else….

Sighing, Minerva was just about to turn around and return to the desk, when Phineas Nigellus cracked one eye open once more. "And don't disturb me again!" he snapped, giving her an unruly glare from under his bushy black brow, before going back to sleep, as if nothing had happened.

The wizard was a handful, probably testing her resolve like a boisterous child probed its limits. But somehow she'd have to count on his cooperation. His services were too important. She couldn't afford to fall out with the difficult man.

With a last sad glance at Albus' portrait, Minerva sat back into the chair behind the desk and resumed her work.

Concentrating harder on the task at hand, she divested herself once again efficiently from the distressing memories. Almost all of the professors' names were well known to her, either because they had been colleagues or because she herself had been taught by them as a young witch. Each card, each name was associated with a face, suddenly appearing in front of her inner eye, with a number of memories of pleasant as well as of difficult times.

The pile of cards was immense, even higher than that of the Ministry officials.

Already the very first card seemed to be exemplary of just how many generations of Hogwarts teachers were associated with the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Duncan Anderson, resident in Aboyne, Aberdeenshire had once been Hogwarts' Arithmancy teacher. The small, stocky man, who always reminded Minerva more of a shoemaker than of a scientist, was a direct descendant of a Scottish family of mathematicians. His great-grandfather, who had been known also amongst Muggles as Davie-Do-a'-Thing, had back then cleared the harbour of Aberdeen from a large rock, obstructing the entrance. And Duncan had made a name for himself as publisher of a number of treatises on the compatibility of Divination and modern Arithmancy.

Minerva had met him only once, at a feast held at Hogwarts at Cuthbert Binns' seventy-fifth death day celebration, in the year 1958. According to Albus' narrations, Duncan had been a committed and popular teacher and much valued member of staff. He had hated to retire, yet his old age and his progressing narcolepsy had forced him to do so. Albus had often told her anecdotes, how he and his fellow students had tried to develop the most elaborate, bewitched contraptions to awaken the professor, in case he fell asleep during class.

Thinking on it, Minerva could very well imagine a young Albus Dumbledore in Arithmancy class, only waiting for his professor to fall asleep and the complicated construction of apparatuses and spells to spring into action. Yes, Albus had always been a bit of a scamp.

Minerva smiled sadly. With her inner eye she saw Albus, eye-twinkling and vivid, as if he were alive. How could he not be? Every moment she expected to hear his steps on the spiral staircase, expected the door to open and to admit Albus Dumbledore alive. It would not happen anymore.

Minerva carried on with her task: former teachers – from Anderson, the old, to Zingstfield, the limping – librarians – the rusty screech of Martha Rhubarb still echoing in her ears - caretakers and medi-wizards. The biggest part of cards, though, the biggest part by far, bore the inscription: former Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Sheltenham, Grevenbroich, Ogarov, Quirrell, Lockhart and Umbridge, were only some of their names. Most of them had an addendum to their address, saying either 'deceased', 'address unknown' or 'no OWL Post Service available.'

Most of them Minerva had never really gotten to know, their faces were blurred in her memory, her recollections of them faded. Minerva worked through this group quickly, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary on this doomed position. She wouldn't call herself superstitious, but the course of history had shown that this post was indeed cursed. And Tom Marvolo Riddle had done a thorough job, indeed.

Minerva deliberately willed herself not to remember the very last in the row of Hogwarts' Defence teachers, too painful the emotions associated with his name. And so the last card under the letter S was quickly banished to the low side-table, the information it contained neglected.

Then the last card was sorted away, another pile worked through. Minerva wondered how many of the witches and wizards she had just addressed would visit Albus' funeral, and whether or not the aged Duncan Anderson would leave his small cottage at the Dee riverside once again for the travel into the Highlands, to Hogwarts.

She didn't like thinking about the funeral, not yet; not, when the pain and loss were still all too fresh. And yet, with the hours passing, the day of Albus' funeral was fast approaching, as well. Thinking of it made her blood run cold once again.

Once more Minerva glanced across the room at Albus' portrait, reluctantly admitting to herself the fact that she would never see the man again. No offered lemon drops anymore, no worldly wisdoms couched in cryptic phrases.

"Albus, I'll miss you," she whispered, "I miss you already."

The fire was still crackling, and yet Minerva felt cold shivers running down her back along her spine. It wasn't physical cold she felt, but an emotional chill, similar to the dreadful cold radiating from a Dementor. And wasn't that exactly how she felt? Re-living the worst, the most frightful memories? A nightmare come true.

But there was nothing for it, no spell to drive away the dread she felt. She had to face the demons frightening her. She had to leave them behind or learn to live with them. And now was the hour to begin with it.

Resolutely, Minerva stacked away the finished letters. With her cold and clammy fingers she had to grasp at the thin parchment several times, before she could actually take hold of it. _A hot cup of tea might work wonders,_ she thought to herself, not only to warm her up a bit, but to calm her frayed nerves, as well.

She drew her wand out of the folds of her tartan plaid. Twice tapping the silver tea set next to her working place, she ordered a pot of tea from the kitchen, then stood in order to hover down the next pile of address cards from the shelf.

The members of staff were followed by people who had been given medals for special service to the school, students, head boys and girls, prefects.

One of the cards, ironically, still bore the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. It mentioned his affiliation to Slytherin House, his periods as Prefect and Head Boy, and his - wrongly bestowed - Special Award for Services to the School.

Ironic, how this card could mention a few innocent facts, and yet tell nothing of the person behind it.

Minerva stared at the bleached parchment for a while. She remembered the wizard, one year her junior, the boy he had been back then. Tom had been a mastermind, handsome and mysterious. Many of the girls had fancied him, yet he had not been interested in any of them ever, had only taken advantage of them, just to drop them like a hot potato, once they had served their purposes.

Tom Riddle. Only few knew about the connection between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort, about the disappearance of a genius boy, and the resurrection of a megalomaniac, powerful wizard. The card didn't tell about it either.

This name he gave himself – Lord Voldemort – did not appear anywhere… a phantom, not tangible, but all the more powerful.

Minerva shivered. There was a reason to it that wizardkind did not speak his name, too horrible were the crimes connected with it.

"Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself," Albus' voice sounded in her ears. So often he had encouraged her to use the disturbing name, yet Minerva could still only bring herself to do so in her stronger moments.

"Voldemort," she spoke into the dark and silent office, her voice trembling and hesitant, as if the name alone could summon the evil spirit behind.

Then Minerva quickly shoved the card away to the side-table as if it was tainted. This was only one card of many, after all….

The rest brought up more pleasant thoughts. They bore names of independent and successful men and women who had once occupied the small beds in the first-years' dormitories, who had cheered for their House's Quidditch team, who had marvelled at the wonders of magic. Generations of witches and wizards who had been educated here at Hogwarts, whose careers had found their beginning here in the same old classrooms, which were still in use today.

Suddenly, Minerva became very aware of the responsibility now placed on her shoulders. Not just the responsibility every teacher had towards his students, the commission to educate them, to guide them in their development from simple-minded children to mature and critically thinking adults. This task Minerva had accepted readily and with pleasure, when signing the contract with Albus about forty years ago. Admittedly it had been easier at times and more difficult at others, but she had always loved her job.

No, these days – and for quite some time now already – it meant a commitment to their moral education, and, weighing much heavier on Minerva's mind, a responsibility also for the students' well-being.

Hogwarts was not the safe haven anymore, it used to be. The last year had shown it more than once. There was no _them_ and _us_ anymore, no fronts easy to differentiate. The enemy was within these seemingly impregnable walls now, the war had taken an unforeseen turn.

Or perhaps it was not so much unforeseen, as she willed herself to believe now. It had been clear from the beginning that Hogwarts would be a main target, and they hadn't been naïve about the students, either. Sooner or later Voldemort had to take advantage of his minions' children. And yet nobody had anticipated this… nightmare.

Minerva wasn't one to dodge difficult tasks, or to give away responsibility placed on her shoulders, but she was afraid nonetheless of what was required of her. Hard times were to come, and the one man who had always been their guideline, their shining beacon, was gone.

Minerva didn't feel too confident just now to be a worthy successor of Albus Dumbledore. Would she make the right decisions? Did she possess the same great foresight Albus had always shown? She sure wasn't as diplomatic and rhetorically skilful as Albus, nor was she a born leader. Would her best be enough to overcome the imminent problems?

Her ponderings were disrupted by an audible _plop_ that startled her. Weary and tense as she was, Minerva had her wand at hand immediately and had jumped up, facing the intruder in a position that enabled her to attack or defend as required.

There was no need to do either.

Chubby, the head house-elf of Hogwarts, had appeared on the little round carpet in the middle of the room, balancing a silver tray with a steaming pot of tea in front of him. The tray swayed worryingly, though, since the old house-elf seemed to be as startled with Minerva's abrupt reaction, as _she_ had been with _his_ sudden appearance.

She saved both of them from the accident about to happen by hovering the tray swiftly, yet carefully over to the desk. She couldn't prevent spilling some of the tea, though, since it took Chubby a second or two to let go of the tray, frightened as he was.

"Chubby is sorry, Headmistress! Chubby is sorry!" the little house-elf blubbered, bowing as deep as his flabby figure allowed him. "Chubby knows he must not disturb the Headmistress with no notice! Chubby will do better next time!"

"Oh, do stop it, Chubby!" Minerva interrupted his torrent of words rather crossly, yet more annoyed with her own jumpiness than with the house-elf's behaviour.

"Of course, Headmistress, of course!" Chubby had stopped bowing. His eyes were intently fixed on the detailed pattern of the colourful rug, he retreated step by step, muttering apologies and promises to do better in future. His limp, wrinkled ears were drooping miserably.

_Oh, Merlin,_ Minerva thought, realising how her words had to have sounded to the house-elf. With Albus Dumbledore's death and her being Hogwarts' new Headmistress, the house-elves were now bound to her and she had just bollixed this visit up considerably. She would have to control herself better. Her curt and dry nature, however well-meant, was not the kind of behaviour the house-elves were used to. And it probably didn't open too many doors with witches and wizards, either.

"Wait, Chubby!" she asked the house-elf more gently now, removing the tea-stains on the carpet with a flick of her wand. "Thank you for the tea! It is well appreciated!"

The little creature paused, then hesitantly raised his head, looking at her intently as if trying to figure out what to think of that sudden change of tone. Slowly his ears straightened up. _They really_ are _ridiculously large,_ Minerva thought, a smile curving her lips.

The house-elf seemed to take that as a positive sign. He smiled, apologetically, taking a step forward, towards the desk once again. Minerva tried to give it the most friendly and heartening expression she could muster. "Is there something you wish to say, Chubby? You can tell me," she said, nodding encouragingly.

The little creature straightened his crooked back, and smoothed his chequered tea towel before beginning to speak. "The house-elves of Hogwarts welcome the new Headmistress and swear their allegiance to her," Chubby intoned solemnly, and Minerva felt cold shivers run down her spine at the significance of that vow.

Nothing before had made her new position clearer to her than this old, little house-elf's words: not her colleagues', nor the students' form of address, and definitely not the Minister's request of cooperation.

This moment seemed to have something holy to it. The house-elves had officially accepted her as Albus' successor, had even pledged their allegiance. What else could be a greater symbol of trust? Of course, the house-elves were duty-bound to the school anyway, but that did not spoil the moment for Minerva by any means. She still felt warm around her heart at these words that meant so much to her.

"Thank you, Chubby," she said, looking into the house-elf's big, trusting eyes. "I thank you for your oath of allegiance. Give my thanks to the other house-elves, as well."

Once again the house-elf bowed deeply, then he looked up and raised his shrill, rattling voice again. "We house-elves are sad and afraid because the old wizard has finally closed his eyes." Minerva could see these big, dark eyes water, but Chubby went on. "We are afraid, but we know we must serve the school, and we do so readily. The Headmistress must know that. We will not run away!"

The last words were spoken with a trembling voice, yet with a determined look in the house-elf's eyes that could not hold the tears anymore. Tears were running down the wrinkled cheeks and falling onto the little rug with a constant dripping sound.

Minerva, moved by that display of fear, grief and loyalty, felt her own resolve break down, as well. "Thank you, Chubby!" she managed once again with a half-steady voice. "The late Headmaster would be proud of you!"

It were the only words of consolation she could offer, grief-stricken as she was herself, yet they seemed to be enough for the little house-elf who beamed at her with tear-filled eyes, bowed once again and disappeared with another _plop_.

**

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A/N: The night proceeds and so does Minerva in her ponderings…. What do you think about it? Please, leave me a review!**

_"Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself."_ (direct quotation from 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone', chapter 17, p. 320; paperback UK edition).

Some random information: David Anderson, aka 'Davie do a' thing' is a historical person. He lived in Aberdeen in the 17th century, and was known for his eccentricity and his creativeness. He was a cousin of another popular citizen of Aberdeen by the name of Anderson: Alexander Anderson, who was a well-known mathematician at his time, researching on geometry and algebra. I just had to use them for my story;-)


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